


Only Way to Go From Here is Up

by painted_pain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hell, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_pain/pseuds/painted_pain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is so much pain, desperation, guilt and shame in those sounds that he wants to curl up and weep. [6x01]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Way to Go From Here is Up

At first, there is heat, so thick he can’t move through it, so thick he can’t breathe, creating swirling patterns of sulphur on the inside of his lungs, filling him up until he starts to burn from the inside out. Flames lick at the soft, vulnerable flesh of the soles of his feet and curl up to caress his bare calves. The air is so still and heavy that he can feel it settle onto his shoulders, pushing him into the jagged and broken earth.   
  
Then comes the sounds: shrieking, piercing, ear-shattering screams, like nothing he has ever heard before, ripping through him and carving up his inner ear. There is so much pain, desperation, guilt and shame in those sounds that he wants to curl up and weep. But there are also snarls and growls intertwined with these sounds, laughter like shattered glass and guttural groans of perverted pleasure.   
  
The last thing he notices is the pain, oh dear God, the  _pain._  It tears through him, spinning through his body and clawing its way up into his skull. It explodes and he is rent limb from limb, disjointed and disorientated. Every thought leaves him, his mind blank and empty except for the pain and his screams fill up the spaces left behind. Everything flashes red and black and yellow and white, nipping teeth and flashing scalpels.    
  
Clawed hands grip his limbs and break them, slowly, crack by fragmented crack, drawing out the hurt and anguish and slobbering jowls relish each crunching, snapping sound, making smacking noises with their lips. Barbed tongues lick and rip and destroy the skin around the splintered bones and he watches, detached and distant and disgusted, as his left leg is tossed to the hellhounds crowded behind them. He doesn’t know why he is here, what has he done –    
  
_No, god, stop, let me go, let me go, no,_ no, _don’t, please please please, fuck, stop, stop it hurts, please god, why, why,_  NO, _I can’t, I won’t, you can’t make me, fuck you, no, no, no, STOP –_   
  
And then, so suddenly, it is blessedly cool and silent and still. Slick, sweet wetness collects in the dips on his face and his clothes –  _clothes_ , covered flesh, tucked in safely – hang heavily off his frame, soaked through. Fresh droplets soothe his chapped lips and the deep-seated dry ache caught in the back his throat.   
  
It’s raining. It’s  _rain_ , he thinks in astonished awe. He’s outside. The light is warm and soft, colours muted and mellow, nothing like the over-saturated brightness of  _down there._  There are trees and grass and it’s green and new and everything is growing. He’s  _out._  A fresh, clean breeze kisses his lips softly and he laughs, long and loud and free, letting the sound escape into the wind and fly through the air.   
  
He’s out, he’s free and he remembers.    
  
Sam gets to his feet, long limbs moving with grace, calm and collected. He remembers and then he buries it and he leaves it behind, caught in the flattened grass between two gravestones.


End file.
